Poisonous you are, and beautiful too.

The project for our photography club today was close-ups and macro shots of flowers. Members brought in lovely specimens of tulips, irises, bluebells, chrysanthemums (also known as “kiss aunty’s bum” according to one member) :D, and all kinds of wild flowers.

I had a strange problem with my camera, I don’t know what it was up to, but it fought tooth and nail not to focus and was generally uncooperative. None of my shots came anywhere near capturing the beauty of the flowers as well as everybody else, but I did get a few that I was pleased with, and they were all of a stunning hellebore.

This is the one I thought came out best. Its soft focus and grainy texture make it look like a painting (I think).

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Warning! Book Thief – Make Sure Someone Else isn’t Profiting off Your Book

merewoman:

Watch out, there’s a thief about!

Originally posted on :

Do not trust this site:

http://www.urbookdownload.com One of my author clients just informed me that her book was illegally downloaded by this online company. If you have a book in the marketplace make sure these guys aren’t taking your hard-earned money! If they are, go immediately to your writer’s union/guild/club (e.g. SFWA, RWA, etc.) and they will help you fight this! If you have DRM (Digital Rights Management) then get it working for you. MJ

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Junk junkies and a naughty little bit

When my step-mother said that we would replace my outgrown jodhpurs with a pair from The Thrift Shop in Nairobi, I was aghast. I’d never been to The Thrift Shop, but I knew it was about second-hand clothes! Other people’s cast-offs. Tatty old rags with tears and stains. We were very comfortably-off, but my step-mother was ever one to count every cent. How humiliating! What if somebody we knew saw us in there?

The first person we knew who saw us was my school English teacher, and the next person one of my school friends with her mother. The teacher was buying a flowery and floaty chiffon dress, and my school friend’s mother was buying her a school uniform to replace the one she’d outgrown. None of them seemed to be the least embarrassed at being seen there. They had no need to be. The clothes were all immaculate, hanging neatly on rails, and finding a pristine pair of jodhpurs that cost a few shillings and were a perfect fit was a pivotal moment in my life. I was hooked.

When we lived in England virtually all my clothes came from charity shops. That’s how I could afford to wear designer suits and evening dresses, bought at a fraction of their original price and still in new condition.

We don’t have that many charity or second-hand clothing shops here, but what we do have is what the French call “Chez Dior”, and the more down-to-earth English call “The Rag and Louse”. It’s a gigantic hangar behind a cement works, and it’s my favourite haunt when my wardrobe needs restocking.

If you can try to visualise the world’s biggest jumble sale after an earthquake, it will give some idea of the chaos that is the Rag and Louse. There are no hangers, no tables. The clothes lie in mountainous heaps on the floor, vaguely sectioned apart. There are men’s shirts, jeans, sports clothing, frocks, ladies coats, bedding, children’s clothing, lingerie, men’s jumpers, ladies’ jumpers, ski wear, scuba wear, swimwear, hats, shoes, blouses, wedding dresses, fabrics, handbags, work clothes, leather and fur coats. There is an unpleasant smell from the fumigation process which causes people to sneeze and cough. Vast trolleys of new stock are constantly arriving.

Photography is not allowed, but this might give some idea of the scene.

There is no easy way to find what you want. You just have to do what everybody else does, and dive into or onto a pile and start rummaging. See a flash of a colour you like, and pull. Pull! Eventually it will emerge from the pile so you can see if it’s what you hoped for. Hardened shoppers sit on top of piles and methodically work their way through them, often in pairs. There’s a primitive changing room behind a curtain. Don’t think that everything is worn out, stained or torn. Some of it is, but there are also plenty of new clothes still with their price tags on them. Like panning for gold, you just have to sift through a lot of mud to find a nugget.

Are you horrified? It’s no place for the precious or the snob. But for bargain hunters it can be a gold mine. One of my French friends, a senior fonctionnaire and the chicest lady you’ll ever see, buys most of her clothes there and always looks as if she’s stepped out of the pages of Vogue.

It’s a popular haunt for traders who snap up leather and denim by the van load for resale.

When a trolley load has been treated with whatever it is they treat it with, the trolley is wheeled to the centre of the hangar, where one of the staff sorts the contents rapidly, tossing them into wooden bins surrounded by shoppers keen to have first dibs. This is the hub of the place, and the ladies (it’s not really a man thing, here) chatter and laugh while grabbing at flying garments.

I don’t know how the conversation started yesterday, as I had only just managed to squeeze between two ladies guarding the bins, but the lady sorting the stuff from the trolley said loud and clear, in English: “A little bit.”

There was uproar, the ladies laughing as tears ran down their cheeks, clutching at each other, and temporarily forgetting the clothes flying past them.

If you don’t speak French, this will mean nothing to you, but if you do, you’ll know why a little bit (pronounced with a French accent) caused such mirth amongst the ladies. :D

I came home with a gorgeous skirt, beautiful two-piece outfit, blinding white fancy top, chic black top and soft cashmere sweater.

Oh, did I mention the price? You pay by weight. My purchases cost €6.90. :)

Katherine Gallagher to present a Stevie Smith workshop at the Charroux Literary Festival August 2015

Originally posted on Charroux Literary Festival:

Katherine Gallagher will be presenting a workshop ‘Not waving but drowning’* based on the work  and life of the poet Stevie Smith.  Thursday 27th August 2015 10.30-12.30. Katherine comments that Smith is heartbreakingly alert, sad, witty, funny, and has an enormous range of poems from the comic to the tragic to the fantastical. She engages with myths and fairy tales, always roaming from the bizarre to the tragic.

*© Stevie Smith   (From Not Waving But Drowning, 1957)

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On a cold and frosty morning …

… it’s hard to drag myself from bed, but seeing this on the skylight this morning, against a deep blue sky, I could not pull the covers back over my head.

Instead I braved the arctic wastes to find my camera and capture this extraordinary frost pattern before the sun had washed it away.

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